Help Wanted
by Eileen
Summary: How the strange boy with the grey hair got a job at the Loyal Order of Corn . . . and also, a name.


The boy with the grey hair wandered alone down Eerie's streets. It was not long past noon; too late to look for breakfast leftovers, too soon to hunt for lunch castoffs. Maybe he should head back to his hideout and see what he had left from the haul he had scavenged from the World of Stuff earlier in the week.

Maybe he'd get lucky and come across someone handing out sandwiches and hot soup. That had actually happened once. It had been weeks ago, but the boy still walked down Maple Avenue hoping to catch them again. No such luck.

He wouldn't beg, though. Only losers begged.

He was passing an unassuming-looking building when he happened to spot the bright red sign in the window: HELP WANTED. Well, that was interesting. He should go check it out.

Lettering on the side of the building read LOYAL ORDER OF CORN. What the heck was that? What was so great about corn anyway? And what kind of help would they need here? If it was something like washing dishes or scrubbing toilets, he could do it. If, however, they needed office help, they were out of luck. The boy with the grey hair had no qualifications for office work. He had no idea if he'd even been to school in his life.

It was worth a try, anyway. He went up and knocked on the door.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the old man in the red jacket wasn't it. "Yes? Can I help you, young man?"

"The question is," the boy said, "can I help **you**?" He pointed to the sign.

"What? Oh," the old man said, glancing at the sign. "Yes, that. Well, come in. Let me get a look at you."

The boy stepped inside. It didn't look like anything special. Just a meeting hall, with a bar, and a door beyond it. He presumed it led to the office, and that that was where his interview would be conducted.

He was wrong.

The old man eyed him, from his unruly mop of prematurely grey hair, down the front of his oversized black coat, to the tips of his boots. "Well, you'll do. Tell me, son, how old are you?"

 _How should I know that?_ "How old do you need me to be?" he answered.

The man nodded curtly. "Good. You don't talk too much about yourself."

"Not much to tell." In fact, there was nothing. The boy's memory of his life before waking up in Eerie three months ago was exactly zero. It was as if his life had begun the moment he came to this uncannily perfect little town.

And then he saw the man's glance drop to the boy's hands. To the two black marks on the backs of his hands. A short horizontal line on the right hand, two perpendicular lines, crossed at the center, on the left.

Plus and minus.

Positive and negative.

Yin and yang.

He waited for the questions- _What are those? Why would you have a plus and minus sign tattooed on your hands? What do they mean?-_ but they never came. The man raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, but said nothing.

"All right," he said at last. "Come along. I'll find you a uniform-bound to be one back there that fits. Then I'll give you the basic tour, and get you started. Lot to do before the meeting tonight."

"Meeting?"

"Oh, yes. Tonight is a very special meeting. We want to have everything in place before the members get here. Just follow me."

"You mean that's it? I'm hired, just like that? You don't need to see my credentials or anything?"

"Do you have any?"

"Well, no . . ."

"Then that's that. We can worry about the paperwork another time. I would like to know your name, though."

"My name?"

"Of course. I have to call you something, don't I? So that you know I'm talking to you?"

"My name . . ." The boy with the grey hair was at a loss. He couldn't remember his name, any more than he could remember where he came from or how old he was. He had thought about giving himself a new name, but nothing seemed right.

He looked down at his hands, at the marks that defined him, and decided to take his name from those.

Plus and minus?

No . . . look at it another way. He crossed his arms at the wrists, and it came to him just like that.

"Dash," he said. "Dash X."

The old man nodded. "You can call me Ned. Come with me, Dash. We'd best get started. Lot to do before the alignment-I mean the meeting. I need your help to get everything ready."

The newly christened Dash X followed Ned into the back, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.


End file.
